


An Unceremonious Proposal

by valammar



Series: After the End [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dueling, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Marriage Proposal, Nudity, Post-Canon, Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 00:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15919074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valammar/pseuds/valammar
Summary: Adeline can always best him at a duel, but when it comes to sentimentality Thom has the upper hand.





	An Unceremonious Proposal

The boy was sweating and out of breath by the time Adeline called a halt to their exercise. Lester, a short, lean thing whose youthful brown hair stuck to his forehead in wet tendrils, sheathed his sword and the Inquisitor gave him an approving nod.

“Very good. You’ve been practicing,” she said, wiping a sleeve across her cheeks. 

“Took your advice. Started lifting weights,” he said. The spring air was cold and damp, cool enough that curious onlookers were shivering. But they hadn’t just spent an hour in the fields learning the sacred art of swordsmanship. “I know I’m getting stronger, but I’m still not as fast as you.”

Adeline offered him a spare smile. “You’ll never be as fast as me.”

Lester flushed. She wasn’t boasting, she was simply telling him the truth. Her body had been honed by desert, steeled by dust storms. In her finest moments, she’d tamed ancient gods and felled unforgiving beasts the likes of which the poor boy should never hope to dream.

“My goal is to seek you out one day and win against you in a duel,” he said with a hint of challenge in his voice. _A confident one._ “Do you think I’ll ever be strong enough to do it?”

“No,” said a gruff voice. Adeline turned to see Thom, casually strolling with his sword in-hand after completing his warm-up. His own dark hair had given partly to silver, but he still walked with a distinctly youthful gait. She might even call it a _swagger_. He had many moments of unabashed assurance since the Inquisition disbanded and they joined together on the road. Sometimes, she could swear he’d reverted in age by twenty years and emitted an Orlesian captain’s aura of brooding intimidation. “Many have tried—yours truly included—but no one has been able to take her down.”

“There have been days when you’ve bested me,” Adeline corrected.

“But never _two_ days in a row,” he added.

Thom gave Lester a firm nod, indicating that he could take a rest. The boy had been barely fifteen when they rode into town the year prior after having tracked a group of raiders to his village. Adeline and Thom made quick work of the neer-do-wells, and in their newfound tradition, they trained willing participants in the way of the sword before they continued their sojourn. She could tell that Thom was proud of Lester’s progress.

Adeline was proud of his brazenness. He told her that he'd heard the bard songs that indelibly established her reputation; he repeated their flowery language, describing her cropped hair resembling the golden dunes that tamed her, her eyes like molten fire. She was as tall as her lover, held herself regally—emblematic of her noble upbringing—and dispatched more enemies with her fist than she had the fingers on which to count. Rumor spread that it took three swordsmen to make an even match against her, and four to slow her down.

Stronger warriors had fled when the notorious Adeline Laverne Trevelyan joined the fray. Lester, however, took no precautions.

“You fought well today,” she said to Lester. “Practice every day like that for another year, and we might make a keen warrior of you yet.”

Lester grinned as if he couldn’t help himself. “But not a warrior who could defeat you.”

“Keep it up, and one day you just might come close.”

Thom spoke up. “Until then, it’s up to me to keep her in her prime.” He raised his blade and assumed a fighting stance in their makeshift arena.

“Real swords today?” she asked.

The fabric of his tunic bunched over his shrugged shoulders. “Choose whatever weapon you think would be the easiest to beat me with.”

Adeline rolled her eyes and didn’t allow herself to crack a smile knowing he’d consider it his first victory of the day. Though both of them were well past forty, neither’s body had lost its conditioning. Adeline had lost a limb, true, and yet that only fueled her to strive harder for perfection. But Thom’s hands, she wagered, had lost a little of their deftness on the feint. For Adeline, years of swinging a claymore made a standard broadsword feel feather-light by comparison. Transitioning to single-handed weapons had been effortless. She could make quick work of him with the sword in her hand, but she sheathed it in an economical manner.

She knew his weak points—the slight favoring of his right side when he parried, or the subtle twist to his ankle when he cleaved. By using his body against him, she’d toppled him with her daggers in the past. The few she wore under her sleeve and inside of her boots might make for an interesting enough exhibition. But no, she had an audience to entertain.

Adeline turned and waded through the crowd until she approached a small girl who clutched a wooden sword. The child looked up at her, eyes wide like the two moons.

“May I borrow this?” she pointed to the object. The girl revealed a lurking smile and eagerly relinquished her toy. Their practice arena erupted with the din of snide laughter.

When she faced Thom, he’d nearly doubled over himself. Before he’d properly regained a hold on his hilt, she charged at him with the wooden blade extended. He dodged and spun, but she wasn’t through. She followed up with a swift series of strikes and slashes, still trying to catch him off-guard. Then she saw it, _there_ , his right shoulder veered inward to cage an old injury to his side, and she pushed the tip of the blade against his heart.

“ _Dead_ ,” she called out.

His cyan eyes narrowed. “Again.”

Thom backed away from her and she made the first strike again. He repeatedly dodged her thrusts in an attempt to tire her out, but her energy wasn’t flagging as quickly as he seemed to expect. So, he alternated his strategy and surprised her by stepping forward, swinging wildly through her advances. What astonished her was that she could see he was really trying to land a killing blow, devoting all of his attention to discovering her weakness, noting where she was strongest with only one arm and a wooden sword. Thom gauged her true ability while striving to see if he could break her and bring the famed champion to her knees.

He hewed, she ducked. Then she dragged her faux blade across his belly after weaving through his impressive but inadequate defense. “Dead,” she called once more. “Dead,” she announced a third time when her weapon landed at the base of his throat. “Dead again,” she repeated, pretending to gouge one of his eyes with the toy.

She watched as Thom fell back, covered in sweat, laughing through exasperated breaths. Something about their demonstration pleased him. “My Lady, you haven’t lost a step.”

“And you actually tried to kill me.”

“We both knew I wouldn’t come close.”

She reached out her wrist to help him to his feet. He gripped it and pulled himself up. Then, she slung her wooden sword over her shoulder in a self-congratulating display, pumping it in the air a few times for good measure. The audience began to filter out now that their daily workout had finished. Adeline maintained a strut until she locked eyes with the little girl again.

“A fine weapon you have here,” she said, placing it in her hands. “It served me well.”

“Do you think I could learn to fight like that?” she asked, her head tilted upward to meet her gaze.

“You most certainly could,” she said. Then she gestured to Lester, who was busy trying to imitate the footwork he’d just witnessed. “Ask him to teach you.”

The village was too small to house them properly. Lester’s family crafted for them a makeshift bedchamber in the barn. Climbing the steps to the hayloft, she was awash in nostalgia. It felt like old times.

They huddled for warmth in their straw bed, relishing in the calm of a night in the country. She’d enjoyed their travels, checking in with remote towns across Ferelden, accepting whatever hospitality they were offered in exchange for honest work. Occasionally, should the lure of cosmopolitan luxuries inspire them, they made their way to Denerim for an evening’s entertainment at the Queen’s court. But Adeline preferred accommodations like the hayloft, layered under woolen blankets with only the firefly glow of a lantern beside them. Or a quaint roadside inn. Knowing that no matter what, they had each other to rely on.

“Have you heard news of your family lately?” he asked.

Adeline shook her head, savoring the comfort of being cradled in his arms. “We rarely speak, you know that. Being exiled by my father and then wandering the southern continent as a sellsword for twenty years didn’t help to keep us in touch.” Then she lifted her chin to look at his face. Something in his expression, a contemplative look, piqued her curiosity. “Why do you ask?”

Thom was silent for a moment. “I was only thinking.”

“About what?”

“That I’ve never met them, for one.”

She gave a dismissing wave of her hand. “You’re missing very little. My older brother Vernon is the new Bann, and he’s twice the bore our father was.”

“Even so, if we are to carry on our relationship, it would be prudent to talk with them at least once.”

“Anything you want to say to them, you can say to me.”

“Not anything.”

“Yes, anything. Here, let me do my impression of Vernon.” She sat up, crossing her long legs, and imitated her brother’s booming Ostwick brogue. He followed suit. “What brings you, Thom Rainier, an esteemed soldier of the Inquisition, righter of wrongs, possessor of impressive pectorals, into my home?”

He pursed his lips to maintain composure. “Not quite how I planned for this meeting to go.”

“Play along. It will be good practice for if you ever do meet him.”

“If you insist,” he shook his head, resigned. “My Lord, I’ve come to you with a most humble request.”

“Then we shall retreat to my study,” she gestured wildly. “At once!”

“Please, Adeline—” He crossed his arms, defensive, and offered her a quelling look.

“I’m _not_ Adeline!” she continued in a low voice. “I’m Bann Vernon Trevelyan! Ruler of the eighth most noble family in Ostwick, and I will not abide by your silly jokes, Rainier.”

Thom conceded with a heavy sigh.

“Very well. Bann Trevelyan, I am forty-five years old. I’ve spent two decades as a disgraced and wanted man. My life has had its ups and downs, and many wouldn't declare my name as an honorable one. And I don't come from noble stock.”

Adeline was motionless on the bed as he finished his unflattering preamble, finding the air had suddenly grown too thin. She met his piercing eyes, completely nonplussed. What, pray tell, had Thom been planning to say if he ever met her family?

“You do not paint yourself in the best light, Rainier,” she said, her voice a little softer that time.

“To do so would be to omit the truth. I realize that it would still benefit your household to see Adeline married to a neighboring noble family. I've heard that you’ve attempted one such match in the past that failed to go as planned, and that you might be hoping to persuade her to accept another proposal. I know that my name would degrade your family’s in the eyes of Ostwick. I understand that I'm not good enough to marry your sister.”

He paused, and Adeline found the strength to bring her hand upward to cover her mouth. She could not speak.

“But I love her, more than anything on this Void-ridden rock.” He plucked the hand from her face and enfolded it in his own. “I would marry her in a heartbeat if she’d have me—but you are her family. You are all of noble blood. So, before I ask for my Lady’s hand, I ask you to find the grace to look upon me with favor. I know full well I don’t deserve her, but I pray that perhaps you’ll agree to let me love her even so.”

Silence filled the barn. It was as if the very air held its breath in anticipation.

“W-well, no matter what we desired for Adeline, she always would do whatever she pleased. Our opinions never mattered to her.”

“But my Lord,” he said, "Your opinion matters to _me_.”

Adeline still couldn’t subdue her shock. A marriage proposal? Here, of all places? Now, of all times? She pulled her hand away, for fear that touching him would cause her to combust.

“To be frank, Thom Rainier, we never thought Adeline was willing to be engaged to _anyone_. We had long abandoned the idea of marrying her off for political gain. So, as her very dull, pig-headed, stubborn brother—” she stopped, taking a break to prevent her voice from cracking. “You have the blessing of House Trevelyan, and I welcome you as my sister’s husband.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Thom gave a tight-lipped smile. “Shall we be married in Ostwick, then?”

“I can think of few things more horrible,” said Adeline, breaking character. Her cheeks hurt from grinning widely. These were the smiles she reserved for him, in private. When she wasn’t maintaining her steely reputation.

“Maker’s balls, you should have seen your face,” he said.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she surged forward, coercing him onto his back. Adeline peppered his forehead, his cheeks, in light kisses. The fresh spring air seemed to warm in his presence. When their lips met, she felt her body erupt in a towering blaze of joy. While he reciprocated her kiss, she noted the tension in his jaw. She wished he’d pull her against him in a rib-crushing hug.

“What is it?” she asked, pulling her mouth away.

“You know,” he said, “It’s a very foolish thing for me to chasten myself in front of a nobleman for the hand of a lady who refuses to have me.”

She was aghast. She thought her reaction had been confirmation enough. Adeline lifted herself off of his chest, using the strength in her thighs to balance her body above him.

“Oh, that’s a dangerous game, to be sure,” she replied. She reached up and slowly began pulling the laces of her nightshirt. She had changed from her sweat-soaked leathers the second the sun went down, so the sheer, billowing dress had her feeling shockingly soft and romantic for such a momentous occasion. “Especially since us noble girls play with men’s hearts like pick-up sticks.”

Thom studied her face, watching her movements with rapt attention. “Do they all play as well as you?” he asked judiciously.  

She’d shrugged out of her sleeves, teasing him with a glimpse at her bare shoulders before curling her body inside the tent of fabric. “Not even remotely. I play to win.”

She pulled off the nightshirt with a practiced, fluid motion and it crumpled in a heap at the end of the bed. Now, she wore only her breast band and undergarments. She crawled forward on her knees to straddle him properly, and Thom took advantage of the close quarters to begin undoing at the laces on her hips. Adeline tugged at the strap behind her back, the sole action that she still struggled to perform single-handed.

He stayed laying down where he was, but she could see his eager smile in the lamplight. “That you do, my Lady.”

There—she sat astride him, wearing only the cold night air. Not that she noticed. Her skin still felt particularly aflame. She leaned over him once more and collected a fervent kiss, savoring the tender warmth of his mouth, the rough heat of his hands skimming her thighs, the support of his taut flesh beneath her. He’d made no moves to disrobe himself, and she relinquished an unceremonious whine to coax him out of his trousers.

“Is that a yes, then?” he asked, his eyes like cold water. She felt a flourish of unbridled affection. Her stalwart Warden, as mellow as a forest stream yet capricious as the ocean tides. Calm and passionate and perplexing and wonderful and good.

Her husband.

“Yes, Thom, I’ll marry you,” she said. “Though I always have been, and always will be, yours.”

Apparently, that was all he needed to hear. He roped his arm around her torso and guided her to roll onto her back. Then he kissed her so hard she forgot what it meant to breathe.

As the lantern wavered and waned, they made a conflagration of their own.

**Author's Note:**

> It didn't feel fair that my other OCs all got happy post-Trespasser epilogues but these two babies didn't. Also, I've missed Blackwall terribly and I'm all caught up in feelings.


End file.
